


Remembering Sunday

by ImagineYourself



Series: A Thousand Unfinished Books [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineYourself/pseuds/ImagineYourself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the song Remembering Sunday by All Time Low. They met at his bookstore and hit it off, but it's been a tough road, and Dean has a tendency to really mess things up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembering Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: depression, allusions to alcoholism, allusions to suicide.
> 
> Ever since I first heard this song, I wanted to write something for it, but it took me a really long time to get the story put together in my head, much less write it! But I did it. Oh, and I DID change the pronouns on this song's lyrics, but just a few. Just letting you know.
> 
> I'd also like to say that I in no way condone Dean's behavior in this story. 
> 
> Playlist for this fic:  
> Remembering Sunday ~ All Time Low  
> No One Does It Better ~ You Me At Six  
> Curl Up And Die ~ Relient K

_He woke up from dreaming and put on his shoes_

_Started making his way past 2 in the morning_

_He hasn't been sober for days_

 

**Wednesday, 17 days, 2:23 a.m.**

Dean blinks his eyes open, slowly realizing that it’s not sunlight that’s streaming in through his window. It’s the harsh yellow of the streetlight that sits directly outside his second floor apartment. Groggily, he glances at the clock on the oven that is just visible above the back of the couch he’s currently stretched out on. Groaning, Dean drops his head down and takes a deep breath.

He looks to the coffee table and is dismayed to see far too many empty bottles and not nearly enough full ones. Grunting with effort, he sits up and grabs at his shoes which are lying haphazardly on the floor. He slips his feet into them and unsteadily stands, his spine popping loudly. Plucking his keys from the table, he slides his arms back into the jacket he had discarded earlier and heads out the door.

 

_Leaning now into the breeze_

_Remembering Sunday, he falls to his knees_

_They had breakfast together_

_But two eggs don't last_

_Like the feeling of what he needs_

 

He almost makes it to the bar before his knees give out and he’s vomiting into a back alley just a block away. There’s no one around, no one on the streets or hiding in the shadows. Dean wipes his mouth with his sleeve and continues on his way, trying to keep the memories at bay at least until he’s got a few more shots of something strong in his gut.

Jo greets him with a disappointed grimace as he walks in, seeing that the Roadhouse is empty save for Jo, the bartender, Ash, her boyfriend, and some crazy guy with a long gray beard that seems to live there from about midnight to five a.m. every day. Dean seats himself at the bar and folds his arms, trying not to let his head hang too low. He ought to put on a brave face at least.

“You look like you just puked up your guts,” Jo tells him casually, sliding behind the counter and leaning on her elbows so she can meet his bloodshot eyes.

“I did,” Dean replies wearily. “Give me something strong.”

“Dean, you’re going to kill yourself like this.”

He gives her a hard look. “Well that wouldn’t be so bad.”

Jo winces and sighs, turning and fixing him a drink that he can’t see. When she comes back, she puts something that’s clear and fizzy in front of him along with a couple of small pills. She twists her mouth at his suspicious eyes. “Seltzer and aspirin for that migraine I’m pretty sure you’ve had going for about two weeks now.”

“Seventeen days,” Dean mutters bitterly, begrudgingly swallowing the pills and sipping at the liquid.

With a sad smile, Jo pats his arm and turns to pick up a rag and starts cleaning glasses.

 

 ***

“You’re kidding me!” Dean guffawed, not caring that a couple of other patrons had turned to glare at him as he tipped his head back.

“No, I swear! He was dripping water all over the carpet and I was tempted to just kick him out to try and save the rest of my books!” Castiel’s eyes were bright and his mouth was twisted in a wide smile as he told his story. “Honestly, who thinks that it’s a good idea to carry a box of books three blocks when it’s pouring rain outside and they don’t have an umbrella?”

“Apparently this guy!” Dean’s laughter calmed to just the occasional chuckle. “Some people, man, some people,” he muttered. Cas managed a sip of his coffee through his smile and Dean ran a hand through his hair. He watched, a leftover smile still on his lips, as Cas surreptitiously pulled something from his pocket and popped it into his mouth, swallowing another sip of coffee. To the average person, that might have looked strange, but to Dean, it was just normal. He knew the pills were easier to take with food, and even though most of the time he and Cas had breakfast at home, they did sometimes go out and of course Cas still had to take his meds regardless of where they were.

There was a time when he would have said something to the effect of Cas not needing the pills, but he knew better than to start that argument up again. And hey, they made the guy feel just a little better, and Dean could deal with that, even if he never was one for medications and therapy and shit like that. It just wasn’t the Winchester way. But it worked for Castiel, and that was enough for him.

***

 

_Now this place seems familiar to him_

_She pulled on his hand with a devilish grin_

_She led him upstairs, she led him upstairs_

_Left him dying to get in_

 

**Friday, 19 days, 8:37 p.m.**

Dean is brought back to the present as the girl before him tugs on his fingers, allowing him to take the final sips of his whiskey before pulling him towards the hanging beads that hide the back stairs and narrow hallways. Her lips are smiling as she continually peppers kisses onto his. Her hands graduate to his chest, finding their way under the lapels of his jacket as she guides him back to her room.

They make it there without a hitch, and Dean is just starting to return the kisses when her hand bumps against something small and hard in the inside pocket of his jacket. She’s trying to pull the material off of his shoulders, but Dean grabs her wrists lightly and turns his face away.

“Wait, stop,” he mutters.

“What’s wrong?” the girl asks softly.

He doesn’t even know her name. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry,” Dean says quickly, turning from her gentle hands and soft skin.

No, she isn’t what he wants. She’s nothing like what he needs.

He leaves without another word

 

***

_Even though he doesn't believe in love,_

_He's determined to call his bluff_

_Who could deny these butterflies?_

_They're filling his gut_

 

Sam was tucked against his side as Dean held the umbrella over their heads. It wasn’t easy, considering the kid had grown a ton in the past year, so much so that he was already towering over Dean and wasn't even seventeen yet. It was nothing new to be in the rain, but they weren’t expecting it, and it was a pleasant surprise to find that Dean actually had an umbrella stashed away in the Impala.

They made it to the store and Dean sighed in relief as he shook out the umbrella outside before folding it up and leaning it against the inside window right beside the door, somewhere where it wouldn’t get any water on any of the books that were resting on shelves in literally every corner of the small store. Behind the counter, a mop of dark hair raised to show a face that nearly had Dean stopping in his tracks.

“Welcome,” a gravelly but kind voice said. Somehow it fit the man’s face perfectly, as he looked both old and young at the same time, though he really couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Dean.

Dean grunted in affirmation and he swallowed as a pair of stormy blue eyes met his own. He had a hard time looking away, but when he did, he found Sam smiling smugly. “Fuck you,” he mumbled to his brother, heading back towards the reference section where he knew the book Sam needed would be, if they had it at this tiny place.

“And who said going to a little bookstore wouldn’t be worth it?” Sam muttered through a grin as he followed Dean.

***

 

_Forgive me, I'm trying to find_

_My calling, I'm calling at night_

_I don't mean to be a bother,_

_But have you seen this boy?_

 

**Saturday, 13 days, 11:14 p.m.**

Dean is sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees and his chin hanging down to his chest. He sits there, silently, eyes open but staring blankly at the carpet under his feet. He suddenly raises his face and glances around the room, then at the ceiling.

“Um, God? Or someone? If anyone is up there… or if Heaven exists or whatever shit it is up there… I was just—just wondering if you’ve seen this guy around…” Dean’s throat closes up around his words as he mumbles them. “It’s—it’s been almost two weeks… and I just wanted to know if he’s okay. I just need a sign, or something. Just to know if… if he made it there alright. If he's happy now...” He drops his head again, swallowing a sob as it rises through his chest.

Dean Winchester is not a man of God, hell he’s never even stepped foot in a church, and before… he definitely didn’t believe in any sort of Heaven or afterlife. But now, now he just has to hope that there’s something more, because that makes the pain just a little tiny bit more bearable. It’s not much. But it’s something.

It’s selfish, though, he thinks to himself.

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault and I just want to know he’s okay. I just need to know that. Please…”

 

***

_He's been running through my dreams_

_And it's driving me crazy, it seems_

_I'm going to ask him to marry me_

 

Dean had already paid the bill for breakfast, and they were on their way out the door, walking into the sunlight. Castiel’s apartment wasn’t far, and they were headed that way to hang out for a while before Dean had to go pick up Sam to head to their parents’ for a little house party since some relatives were in town for the night.

“I haven’t asked yet, but how are you doing today?” Cas suddenly asked, his hand snaking into Dean’s as they walked.

“I’m good.”

“Just good?”

Dean shrugged. “Can’t say much, it’s still morning.” Cas hummed in agreement. “You?”

“I’m fine.”

Dean glanced at him. No, that wasn’t right. “What’s wrong?”

Cas shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Babe, come on. I can’t do my job right if you won’t tell me what the problem is.”

Looking at him with stubborn eyes, Cas sighed. “Just not a good day so far. It was hard to get out of bed.”

“Hard and bed, yeah those are two words I like having in the same sentence,” Dean said with a grin. He laughed at Cas’ glare.

“Not funny.”

“Sorry, sorry. Look, you’ve just got to fight it, right?”

“That’s a lot easier said than done, Dean.”

“Yeah, well it can’t be _that_ hard.”

“Dean I’ve explained this all to you before. It’s not like I have an on-off switch. It’s not like that. I can’t just choose to feel better.”

“You can _try_.” Dean was starting to get a little frustrated. Yeah, he understood. Cas had depression, it’s a serious mental illness, blah, blah, blah. Well Dean had bad days, too, but at least he _tried_ to make them better. Most of the time, it just felt like Cas wasn’t even trying.

Cas suddenly dropped his hand with a sound of disgust and quickened his pace. It took a moment for Dean to realize this, and he stopped walking, looking around for a second before finding his boyfriend walking briskly away from him.

“Cas! Hey, wait!”

“Fuck you, Dean!” Cas called back over his shoulder.

Dean stood stock still, barely recognizing that a few others on the sidewalk were giving him strange looks. Finally, he frowned, muttered a curse under his breath, and turned around to walk back to his own apartment.

***

 

_Waking the neighbors, unfamiliar faces_

_He pleads though he tries_

_But he's only denied_

_Now he's dying to get inside_

 

**Monday, 1 day, 9:56 a.m.**

Castiel hasn’t returned any of his calls. The night before, Dean wasn’t worried. Now, he’s worried. Cas always forgives him. Cas always feels better the next day. Cas always at least tells him that he’s okay.

Dean doesn’t even want to take the extra fifteen minutes to walk, plus it’s raining, so he takes his Impala through the busy streets and makes it to Cas’ apartment building. There’s no answer at the door, and Dean knocks a few more times, waiting around for almost half an hour before he decides to go next door.

Chuck, who Dean had only talked with a couple of times, opens his door after just a minute, but when Dean asks if he’s seen Cas, he replies that he hasn’t. He thinks he heard Cas rummaging around in the middle of the night, but he can’t be sure. The neighbor across the hall, Anna, has the same answer.

Dean waits some more, leaning against Cas’ door in the hopes of hearing something if Cas is still inside. There’s been nothing but silence, but he can’t give up. It’s been almost two hours and he reaches inside the pocket of his favorite jacket, pulling out the little box that’s been hiding there for three weeks now.

Inside is a plain silver band.

He suddenly remembers something and could hit himself that he didn’t think of it before. He pulls out his phone from another pocket and scrolls down until he finds the number he’s looking for.

“Yellow?” Gabriel’s voice is welcome to Dean’s ears for once.

“Gabriel! Have you seen Cas?”

“Ummm… nope. Can’t say I have. Why? You lose my brother?”

Dean sighs and hangs his head, the box still in one hand. “I don’t know. He’s not answering my calls and I’ve been camped out at his damned door for two hours but he’s not answering.”

“Well, you’re in luck!”

“What?”

“I’ve got a spare key to his place! And it’s my day off. Hold onto your panties, Dean-o, I’ll be there soon.”

“Thanks, Gabriel.”

It takes twenty minutes for Gabriel to get there, and Dean jumps to his feet when he sees the shorter man sauntering down the hallway. “So, did you fuck up again?” he asks as soon as he’s within earshot.

Dean grimaces. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

Gabriel tightens his lips and pats his shoulder. “He might not be here. He’s been known to head over to our other brother’s place when he gets really bad.”

“Balthazar? But he lives halfway across the country!”

Gabriel nods solemnly. “Yeah.” He takes out his keys and finds the right one after a couple of tries, pushing the door open.

They step inside to find the place bare. The furniture is still there, but all of the pictures that used to hang on the walls and the little knick-knacks that Cas had littering the shelves are all gone.

“What the fuck?” Dean whispers, mostly to himself. He glances at Gabriel, who looks to be in just about the same amount of shock that he himself is in.

“You fucked up bad, didn’t you?” Gabriel mutters, turning to him.

“I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t know I upset him that much. He was just…” Dean stutters. His eyes gaze around the room. When he looks back to his companion, Gabriel is lifting a phone to his ear, his lips a tight, worried line.

“Balthazar? Yeah, is Cassie there? What? Have you heard from him? You’re kidding me. Shit. He’s gone. His apartment is empty. I don’t know! Dean’s saying it wasn’t anything that bad but… Yeah. Call me if you hear anything.” Gabriel hangs up with a sigh.

“He’s not there,” Dean mutters, knowing that something is very, _very_ wrong. He takes a few steps forwards and looks around, trying to find something, anything, that might say where he’s gone to. Gabriel goes off towards the hallway while Dean looks around the kitchen, coming up with nothing.

“Dean!” Gabriel suddenly calls, prompting Dean to move quickly to the bedroom, where Gabriel is holding an open book in his hands by the bed. “It’s got your name on it.” He hands it to Dean.

His heart pounding in his ears, Dean looks at his own name, scrawled on a piece of folded paper shoved into the book in the familiar loopy writing of his boyfriend of almost a year. He glances at the cover of the book, realizing with a sinking heart that it’s one of Castiel’s favorite poetry books. One that he always keeps at his bedside and reads from almost nightly, and must know every one of the poems by heart. Dean takes the paper out, unfolding it and letting his eyes read over the short note written there. He thinks his heart stops for a few seconds before he manages to sit on the edge of the bed.

-

_I'm not coming back_

_I've done something so terrible_

_I'm terrified to speak_

_But you'd expect that from me_

_I'm mixed up, I'll be blunt, now the rain is just_

_Washing you out of my hair and out of my mind_

_Keeping an eye on the world,_

_From so many thousands of feet off the ground, I'm over you now_

_I'm at home in the clouds, and towering over your head_

_-_

He doesn’t even notice when a couple of fat raindrops splatter across the page. He doesn’t even notice when Gabriel asks him what it says. He doesn’t even notice that he’s inside, so it can’t be rain, but he can hear the rain through the window next to him.

 

_The neighbors said he moved away_

_Funny how it rained all day_

_I didn't think much of it then_

_But it's starting to all make sense_

_Oh, I can see now that all of these clouds_

_Are following me in my desperate endeavor_

_To find my whoever, wherever he may be_

Slowly, Dean stands. He pushes past Gabriel, the book in one hand, the little box in the other. He doesn’t stop when Gabriel asks him where he’s going. He just keeps walking until he’s standing outside and the rain is pouring down, soaking through his clothes and dripping down his face like tears. Gabriel is yelling at him from the overhang in front of the building. Dean turns to him, hands him the book, and walks home.

 

_I guess I’ll go home now…_

**Author's Note:**

> There's more to this story in my head, but I didn't have the heart to write it because of how sad this story already is.. I have a lot of ideas of things to add to this and explanations and maybe even some parts from Castiel's point of view, but none of that goes with this song, so I decided not to include any of it.


End file.
